There’s the crackling of a quiet woodfire. Then crickets, close to my left, but in counterpoint also farther away to my right, and farther away still – a tremolo in the hayfields that surround us. I can hear an airplane – farthest away – a sustained roar almost entirely muffled by great distance.
It is utterly black outside – the kind of black you get when the moon is full and you’ve been staring at glowing embers in a fire pit. Every once in a while, the black that is not moon or embers is punctuated by the comma of a firefly. Ah, but I’m grateful to be alive, right here, right now, surrounded by magic.
It’s the eve of the June 2013 supermoon, almost two days in to the turning of 2013 from bright to darker, from long long days into long long nights. I am nowhere near the far north of this planet, but I can still feel what is sacred about this moment – we are lifted weightless at the crest of a great, six-month-long crescendo wave, just before we turn and surrender to the sustained business of its’ trough …growing food, tending the field, harvesting, planning for, reaping and saving what we can of glorious summer abundance for the long, long, impressively quiet, dark winter.
I’ll go out on a limb here, and give voice to what my gut is telling me as we ride the crest of the season, and time seems suspended: in the six months between this solstice and the next we will all feel quite profoundly different.
It seems to me that there is choice, i.e. – how different from now would you like to be? Perhaps in only small ways. But I sense that even those will be clear turning points, in retrospect. Certainly, true for me.
Happy Summer Solstice weekend everyone. Hope you’re feeling weightless, even just for a moment…